


Concerning the Great Serpent Glykon and the Angel Clothed With the Sun

by argyle4eva



Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Rome, Crowley in a wig, Fake gods acting as real gods sort of, Gen, Historical, Plague, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: Crowley is pretending to be the false snake God Glykon, Aziraphale is on a mission to investigate the cult, and a plague is starting to make inroads at the fringes of the Roman Empire. Will our heroes end up at odds, or . . .?
Series: Wise As Serpents, Innocent As Doves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535606
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Get A Wiggle On Zine





	Concerning the Great Serpent Glykon and the Angel Clothed With the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> My SFW contribution to the [Get a Wiggle On Zine](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/wiggleonzine), a snake-Crowley themed collection. Written to stand alone, but also to socket into my "Wise As Serpents" series once the zine embargo was over. I had a wonderful time working with all the talented writers and artists who contributed (check out the collection!), and am honored my content was included with theirs.
> 
> My computer ate my zine final draft, so any typos or formatting inconsistencies with the text version are things I managed to miss on my re-edit of the next-to-final draft; apologies to the zine's hardworking editors and my original beta, Hats, for any errors that remain.

_You, my dear Celsus, possibly suppose yourself to be laying upon me quite a trifling task:_ Write me down in a book and send me the life and adventures, the tricks and frauds, of the impostor Alexander of Abonutichus. _In fact, however, it would take as long to do this in full detail as to reduce to writing the achievements of Alexander [the Great]; the one is among villains what the other is among heroes. Nevertheless . . . I will essay the task . . ._

_**Lucian of Samosata, “Alexander the Oracle-Monger,” c. A.D. 180** _

Aziraphale’s first impression of Abonutichus was of a pleasant port town on the southern  shore of the Black Sea, at  the edge of the Roman Empire. Houses climbed the hills from the water’s edge, and it was all very charming.

However, he wasn’t there for sightseeing, and immediately started his current assignment: investigating the Temple of Asclepius, and its oracular star, Alexander. He began by stopping passers-by in the street and asking about the Temple.

That was informative; most citizens expected foreign travelers seeking directions, and were enthusiastic about the temple and its famous oracle - but some were less enamored, and hinted at shady goings-on.

Interesting.

Aziraphale made his way to the Temple, which was handsome, if small: recently built, with a facade of white marble. There was a steady stream of people entering and exiting, so he slipped into the current and let it carry him along.

The interior was cool and dim after the sunlight outside, but when Aziraphale’s eyes adjusted he was in the presence of the oracle himself – Alexander of Abonutichus. Alexander was a large, handsome man, richly clothed, on a seat of honor atop a dias. Even more striking, wrapped around his shoulders and torso were the gleaming coils of an enormous serpent.

A black and red serpent, whom Aziraphale happened to recognize personally.

Suddenly Heaven’s interest in the matter  made a great deal more sense.

Aziraphale didn’t think he’d been spotted, and lurked  behind the crowd. The  procession of people moving through seemed to be dropping sealed scrolls (and coins) into baskets held by acolytes.  More devotees gathered  before Alexander , who  was returning similar scrolls, still sealed, with oracular responses attached .  Occasionally , he appeared to consult the serpent – named “Glykon” and presented as an avatar of Asclepius Himself –  for additional details.

In his time on Earth, Aziraphale had encountered numerous fortune tellers and prophets, m ost fa kes , though just enough were real to keep things interesting. He fancied himself an expert, and within minutes  pegged Alexander as a charlatan.  Alexander’s prophecies were mostly vague banalities, eas ily interpreted a multitude of ways.  The audience was impressed, however, gasping at each revelation.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and shifted position to stay hidden. He caught a clearer view of his demonic opponent in the process, and froze, gaping, as he spotted the wig. A long, blond, ridiculous _wig_ , perched on the serpent’s head. Aziraphale barely managed not to burst into laughter.

_Oh, dear, this is a complication, though._

Having got the lay of the land, Aziraphale joined the flow of people leaving the temple. He might as well find a nice wine shop for a few hours.

\---

Chatter at the shop was wide-ranging; Aziraphale sat and sipped and used his  angelic hearing to track multiple conversations. Mixed with local gossip were rumbles of dissatisfaction with the Empire (which was currently not at its best) and talk of  unrest , military campaigns, and a plague from the East, brought home by returning Legions. Aziraphale shuddered; he d etested plagues – no natural disaster was  _pleasant_ , but the fear and hopelessness  caused by a silent,  unseen enemy were  heartrending . Abonutichus  might seem an oasis of peace, but d ark forces  were at work , and people looked nervously over their shoulders.

A wonderful setting for some demonic intervention.

\---

Well after sunset,  Aziraphale tiptoed t hrough the streets , dodging the passers-by he encountered ( h e was  cutting  down on miracle use after a rude memo), brushing invisibly past a few guards (unfortunate, but necessary) and charming a lock (same) until he was in the main room of the Temple, now lit by a single oil lamp.

Aziraphale didn’t jump when  the darkness coiled on Alexander’s chair opened its brilliant golden eyes. The serpent was still wearing his ridiculous blond wig, which Aziraphale tried to ignore.

“Hah. That _was_ you, earlier,” the serpent said.

“Crawly . . .”

“Crowley.”

“Crowley. What are you doing here?”

“Causing trouble, creating false idols, destabilizing belief systems, encouraging crime and vice. The usual. How about you? Here to thwart me?”

“Unfortunately, I think I am – I’m under orders to investigate this Temple, and Alexander.”

The serpent hiss-snorted. “Not surprised your side’s noticed. Alexander’s a real piece of work. Hell’s very enamored, sent me to give him a, uh, hand.”

“A serpent cult, selling fake fortunes, disguised as a Temple of Asclepius. Clearly your idea,” Aziraphale sniffed. 

“Nah. Alexander came up with that all on his own, I just put a few encouraging words in his ear. When he said he needed a tame snake as a prop for his scam, I posed as a merchant and sold myself to him. Got delivered to his door in a basket and everything. Then I just followed along and played dumb. Easy-peasy.”

The click of a lock sent Aziraphale scrambling for cover, miracle ready. Fortunately he was able to hide  in the shadows .

Alexander entered, carrying a covered bucket. He squinted at the chair and, serpent confirmed, set the bucket on the floor. Then he made the rounds of offering baskets, collecting scrolls and money, before exiting. Aziraphale waited  until the lock clicked, then crept out of hiding.

Crowley slithered  from the chair  to inspect the bucket. He nosed  away the cover, revealing several terrified rats huddling  inside, then tipped it over and said, “Go on, get out of here.”

The rats bolted for the shadows. The last  one paused, chattering at Crowley from a safe distance.

“Yes, yes, eternal gratitude - you all say that,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ll call in that favor someday, y’know.”

The rat scurried off. Crowley saw Aziraphale watching and managed a limbless shrug. “I’m not hungry, and I like rats. They’re clever.”  He laughed . “It’s a good thing I’m not a real snake, my  mate Alex has no idea how to  care for one. He brings buckets of rats, finds ‘em empty in the morning, and thinks  that’s it .” Crowley  returned to the chair and settled into a gleaming mass of scales .

“I assume he’s off to prepare tomorrow’s ‘prophecies,’” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, a hot needle to take off the wax seals, if there’s any good blackmail material he sets those aside, writes his responses to the rest, and reattaches the seals so he can return ‘em ‘unopened’ with answers the next day. Basic stuff, but the crowd loves it. He’s making bank.”

“Very pedestrian. Without you here, I doubt my side would care at all.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I’m to report my findings to Gabriel tomorrow. I may be required to . . . take action.” 

“So I might want to flee now and avoid your wrath? I’ll take my chances. This is doing my employee ratings no end of good, and it’s a cushy job.”

“Crawly -”

“ _Crowley!”_

“You are a _snake_ – in a dreadful wig, I might add – so that’s going to trip me up.”

Crowley made a  _fair enough_ gesture with his head.

Aziraphale glared. “I hope you,”  _and I_ , “won’t have cause to regret this,” he said stiffly,  turning on his heel to leave.

Behind him, Crowley snorted again, but Aziraphale  ignored it .

–

Aziraphale  returned to the wine shop the  next day, drinking and  hoping his orders wouldn’t  involve smiting . It was all in the line of work, nothing personal, but . . . this was Crawly –  _Crowley!_ \- after all. The demon  was more of a colleague than an enemy. Even, after their  last meeting in Rome, a bit of a friend. A  _work_ friend, but still . . .

He was so lost in thought he nearly jumped out of his corporation when Gabriel  sat beside him and said, “Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale juggled the wine cup he’d  almost dropped, and set it on the table. “Er, hello.”

Gabriel was dressed immaculately, as usual, in a purple-striped white t oga to match local fashions (and, of course, his eyes). “What’ve you got on the Temple?” he asked,  all business. That was good; chit-chat with Gabriel was a bit like slow torture.

“Alexander is a charlatan, bilking people out of their money with fake fortunes. Also -” Aziraphale couldn’t lie, but would be as vague as possible - “I suspect there may be . . . infernal influence.”

“Good, good, all as we suspected,” Gabriel said, nodding. “Heaven has decided to make an example of him.”

Aziraphale cringed,  anticipating smiting orders .

“You’re to p erform a miracle that will give Alexander the legitimacy he needs to consolidate his cult.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I . . . wait,  _what_ ?”

“The world is changing, Aziraphale,” Gabriel gestured expansively. “The Roman Empire and religion are faltering. People like Alexander are helping. The more destabilized things are, the more chances Christianity has to establish itself as a major player. Which, of course, is what we want.”

Aziraphale was silent a moment, parsing that out. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to support the Christians  _directly_ ?” Rather than being so roundabout?”

Gabriel’s tight little smile was supposed to be fondly condescending, but merely made him appear constipated. “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale – ours is not to ask why, only to obey. Support Alexander, and the rest will follow. It’s all part of the Plan.”

“Er. Quite. What exactly am I to do, then?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Not my problem. Just make it good, they’re budgeting a lot for this.” He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale  received a n  influx of etherial power that made a smiting feel like a hiccup. Head reeling, he clutched at the table, struggling to assimilate the  enormous, shapeless blessing he’d been handed.

“I’ll be back for your followup report in a few days.” Gabriel, oblivious to Aziraphale’s reaction, gave a cheery wave and left.

\---

That  night , Crowley, coiled in Alexander’s chair,  awaited  Aziraphale’s return. The angel arrived on time, but something had changed. Aziraphale was, no other words for it,  _charged up,_ and Crowley’s stomach dropped a t the thought he might have misjudged badly.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Aziraphale said, a pproaching the dias, which, to Crowley’s relief, didn’t  _sound_ like the lead-up to a smiting. Then  Aziraphale stumbled and caught himself, breathing heavily, obviously distressed.

Crowley  half-uncoiled , though he was too far away to provide support. “Aziraphale? What the Heaven’s going on?”

“How very accurate.” Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “I’m to perform a miracle  on Alexander’s be half .”

“You’re  _what_ ?”

“It’s all  ridiculously convoluted, but . . .” He explained.

“And I thought I’d heard everything by now,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale chuckled, then winced. “Whatever I’m to do, It’d best be _soon_ ,” he said. “It’s difficult holding this in.”

Crowley considered options. It wasn’t _entirely_ out of concern for Aziraphale; an unguided blessing that powerful would discorporate any demon nearby, should the angel lose control. The faster Aziraphale got down to business, the better.

“It’s good timing,” he said. “Word is, the plague’s reached Abonutichus – there was a horde here today begging for Asclepius’s  help . Seems a good way to  use your blessing, protecting his flock.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Aziraphale’s face lit up. “I  _do_ hate plagues. And for once I’ve got free rein to intervene.”

Crowley’d seen Aziraphale’s despair  over his orders not to help during other plagues . It would be a nice tweak at  Heaven to  provide an exception this time. Very proper  demonic activity . 

“I think it’s time for Asclepius to take a hand. In a manner of speaking,” he said.

\---

Alexander had begun his oracle business at home, while the new Temple was being built, so Crowley knew where to find him. He’d expected Alexander to be asleep, but he wasn’t.

He was packing.

Crowley, in human form, cleared his throat.

Alexander spun, ready to go on the offensive, then recognized his visitor.

“You! Why are you here, snake-merchant? I paid you long ago.”

“So you did. Bought yourself a god. And, surprise, the second installment’s due.” 

“What  _are_ you babbling about?” Alexander’s body language became threatening. He was large and muscular, more than a match for Crowley’s wiry frame - or so he might think.

“I’ve seen you fleecing the believers, day in and day out,” Crowley told him, unconcerned. “Good money, that. But now there’s a plague, and it’s time for a little  _real_ divine intervention. Tomorrow, you’re going to call your followers to the Temple, and give them a blessing.”

“You’re mad,” Alexander said. “The god’s fake, and I’m leaving while I still can. As you should,” he added, pointedly.

“Fake, am I?” Crowley asked. He let his skin ripple with scales, sliding into serpent-shape and attaining full size (he’d grown a bit since Eden). No mere shoulder ornament now, he reared his head, cobra-like, until it brushed the ceiling.

“No!” Alexander scrabbled backwards, eyes wild. “I made you up!”

“You don’t have what it takes to make  _me_ up,” Crowley hissed, letting his broken, burning halo shine out. “Be careful what you ask for – even frauds can summon the real thing. Now, listen to me . . .”

\---

Word spread through Abonutichus with (literally) miraculous speed; by noon the Temple was thronged with frightened people – not just believers, but others who, in desperation, were willing to take a chance on any possible salvation. Too numerous for the Temple, they filled the street. At noon, Alexander, wearing the snake-god Glykon, emerged onto the Temple steps. If Alexander was sweating, and Glykon’s coils were tighter than usual – almost constricting – the onlookers were too distraught to notice.

Lurking off to one side, behind a pillar, was an angel with a desperate expression.

“People of Abonutichus!” Alexander called, “The god has heard my prayers, and brings healing to all.”

On cue, Crowley stirred, rearing his head above Alexander’s. “Long-tressed Phoebus shall dispel the plague-cloud," he cried (not the catchiest invocation, but he’d been pressed for time).

Aziraphale hit his mark perfectly, stepping into the open and releasing his blessing. The resulting blaze of divine light made it seem as if Phoebus the Sun had, indeed, settled in front of the Temple.

Crowley was as surprised as everyone else – he’d expected light (hence the Phoebus reference), but not the sheer _force_ of it. No wonder Aziraphale’d been stressed, carrying _that_ around. Still, he was in control enough for the blessing’s holiness to flow past Crowley without a twinge; he was also maximizing the radius, to take in as many people as possible.

Aziraphale _really_ detested plagues.

As the light faded, Crowley slipped from Alexander’s shoulders and caught Aziraphale when the angel’s knees gave out. Everyone else was still stunned, so Crowley picked his way out of the crowd unnoticed, Aziraphale in his arms.

\---

Aziraphale awoke in an unfamiliar room, on a humble but comfortable sleeping mat. He felt decidedly the worse for wear, though he was grateful to be free of his burden.

“You better?” asked a familiar voice, and Crowley hunkered down beside him.

“Perhaps, depending on your definition.”

Crowley chuckled. “You _sound_ better.”

“Well, that’s one area of improvement, I suppose,” Aziraphale sat up. “I – thank you for bringing me here, wherever this is.”

Crowley grimaced. “If I hadn’t, and they’d found you passed out on the Temple stairs, everything could have fallen apart. I didn’t work this hard to have you ruin it.”

Crowley, Aziraphale was starting to realize, didn’t care for thanks. “The blessing went over well, I assume.”

“It was bloody effective,” Crowley assured him. “Alexander’s golden from now on. Our assignments are done.”

“What, you aren’t playing Glykon any more?”

Crowley shrugged. “I’ve done my bit. Alexander will come up with a replacement. He can use a hand puppet for all I care – and for all his believers will notice.”

Aziraphale stretched, his ethereal equilibrium returning.

“I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I did, but . . .”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

“It was all good fun while he was bilking willing marks with fake predictions," Crowley admitted, " but he built up people’s faith and then tried abandon them when things got serious. That’s not as funny. Besides, you’re right, the wig’s atrocious.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale suppressed a smile. “So, what’s next? A new assignment?”

“Eventually. I’m on my own for now. What about you?”

“After I report to Gabriel, nothing’s on the schedule.”

“Well, in the interest of our mutual goals, I’ve got an idea. Having established Alexander’s credentials, would you like to start a counter-narrative, to undermine his cult and let Christians get a foot in the door?”

“Perrrrhaps. What’s in it for you?” Aziraphale cocked his head.

“Making trouble. Messing with existing institutions – of which Alexander is one, now.”

“ _Do_ tell.”

\---

Outside an Athenian _taberna_ , a lean, strong-featured man consumed a meal of lentils and bread while jotting notes on a wax tablet.

“Pardon me – are you Lucian of Samosata? The satirist?” an unfamiliar voice asked, and the man (who was indeed Lucian), looked up to see an odd pair: one man was fair, dressed conservatively in pale colors, with a round, open face; the other was  lean, sharp-featured, copper-haired and dressed stylishly in black, with smoked-glass spectacles. Together, they looked like the setup for a comedy act.

Lucian swallowed and said, “I could be, for a good reason.”

The round-faced man, who had spoken, chuckled. “We’re both fans of your work . . .”

“Big fans,” the other man said, with a shark-like smile.

“. . . and we wondered if you’d be interested in a bit of, ah, writing material.”

“Dirt,” the black-clad man clarified. “Really  _ good _ dirt on Alexander of  Abonutichus. Enough for at least a pamphlet, if you’re so inclined.”

Lucian took another bite of bread, and considered. His feud with Alexander was hardly a secret, and the false oracle wasn’t universally loved. It might be worth listening. He swallowed.

“For that, I’m  _ definitely _ Lucian of Samosata.”

The round-faced man beamed; the black-clad man grinned. Lucian slid over on the _t_ _ aberna _ ’s stone bench, gesturing for them to be seated.

“Where to start?” the round faced man asked rhetorically, settling the folds of his toga.

“How about the behind-the-scenes story of a snake in a wig?” the black-clad man suggested.

Lucian scraped his tablet clean, and held his stylus ready.

**Author's Note:**

> When researching a plot for my zine fic, I discovered the serpent-god Glykon (aka Glycon) - and instantly knew Crowley In A Wig just *had* to be done. It turns out Glykon has been A Thing for a while, notably with [Alan Moore](https://www.wired.com/2006/11/alan-moore-acol/), but I've never been a big fan or followed him closely enough to have heard that particular story, and the historical version was likewise new to me.
> 
> [This page](https://www.livius.org/articles/religion/glykon/) has a nice summary, and is the one I lifted from shamelessly for this story, including name spellings and the idea that Glykon helped open the way for a wider spread of Christianity. [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glycon) has some good stuff, too, and some absolutely hilarious statue pics of, yes, a snake in a wig. Also check out the linked article on Alexander.
> 
> I cleaned up Alexander a *lot* for this, ironically - he seems to have been a nasty piece of work indeed, along the malignant narcissist line, and if half or what Lucian says about him is true, he was definitely one of Hell's favorite bois. Lucian's account is, by the way, a great dirt-dishing read, with a lot of wonderfully snarky shade cast along the way. One translation [here](http://lucianofsamosata.info/wiki/doku.php?id=home:texts_and_library:essays:alexander) (the source of the opening quote; in its original form "Alexander the Oracle-monger" is one chapter of [this collection](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6585)), another translation is [here](http://www.tertullian.org/rpearse/lucian/lucian_alexander.htm) (I particularly like the Augean stable reference, and would have liked to include it in the opening for my fic, if I hadn't already been over the word limit). 
> 
> There was so much dirt in fact, it was probably good I was writing for the Wiggle On Zine's 3000 word (-ish) limit, because I could have gone on forever with all the material provided by actual history. 
> 
> The plague referred to is now called the [Antonine Plague](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonine_Plague), and may have been either smallpox or measles. Sadly, in our world, Alexander's healing spell didn't provide much help to the afflicted, and there was no sun-bright angel to help - but fic is all about wish fulfillment, and in the current world situation, an angelic miracle of healing is certainly on the list.
> 
> As an aside, some have wondered exactly how Lucian got such detailed info for his monograph, leading to questions about the veracity of his claims against Alexander. One example can be found here, in a rather off-beat [Shuker Nature post](http://karlshuker.blogspot.com/2017/05/seeking-glycon-blond-haired-human.html). Shuker is normally a pretty down-to-earth cryptozoologist, and why he'd bother to write about an obvious fake like the Serpent Glykon is beyond me, but it's an entertaining read, anyway. I figure the problem of sources is solved if you assume a little joint angelic and demonic intervention. :)
> 
> Finally, the title is a [William Blake reference](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Red_Dragon_Paintings), because one should *always* make a William Blake reference if possible. Them's the rules.


End file.
